I’m a total klutz with chopsticks, so I give up and pick up the piece of something Creighton called a rainbow roll and dip it into soy sauce mixed with a small bump of wasabi. I hold my hand under it to catch the drips as I lift it to my mouth, already anticipating the symphony of flavors I’m about to unleash.
Creighton’s smile is downright amused, but I don’t care. He might as well see how completely unsophisticated I still am in so many ways. At least he won’t expect to take me out to some fancy restaurant until I’ve had time to master chopsticks. It’s not like we used them to eat hot wings at the bowling alley.
I moan in delight as I savor the taste of the sushi I’ve just popped into my mouth. It’s so damn good, and I say so to Creighton as soon as my mouth isn’t stuffed full.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I can’t believe I never wanted to try it before. If I’d only known what I was missing . . .”
“I’m glad you’re open to trying new things, Holly.” His lips twitch into a less amused smile. “I can’t wait to see what we can conquer next.”
I lift my sweet tea, procured by Creighton at my request, to take a sip. “It’ll have to wait until after the tour.” I note Creighton’s frown and add, “You didn’t forget that, right?”
“No, but I forgot to tell the pilot.”
Oh, that’s not a good sign. “Maybe you should do that?”
He shoves a hand through his hair and slides off the table. I’m hoping he’s taking care of the situation, and in the meantime I watch the play of the muscles in his back, all the way down the waistband of his gym shorts, as he crosses the dining room and disappears into the kitchen. His voice carries, and I’m pleased to hear he’s making the call.
I pick up his half of the conversation.
“This is Karas. I’ll need the jet the day after tomorrow. Make sure it’s ready by four.”
“Good. Text me if anything comes up in preflight.”
“Thanks.”
I’m feeling the warm glow of contentment that he’s making sure I’m going to get back to Nashville early when he heads back into the dining room and climbs back onto the table. But not on his side. He settles himself behind me, lifting me so I sit on his lap.
“We’re going to teach you to eat with chopsticks.”
“This is going to get messier than it already is, then.”
“So be it.” He grabs the chopsticks with his left hand and places them in my right hand, positioning my fingers awkwardly around them. “Like this.”
He guides my chopstick-holding hand to the sushi and manipulates my fingers until we’ve picked up a piece and dipped it in soy sauce. Ever so carefully, we lift it toward my mouth. Which is right about when I realize what we’re doing is almost more intimate than when he bent me over the back of the couch.
My hand shakes, and the chopsticks lose their light grip right before it reaches my lips . . . and the cold rice and fish slips right down the neck of the T-shirt I’m wearing.
“Damn it,” I say. “I knew this was going to be a disaster.”
Sushi might be delicious, but it feels kinda gross now that the rice is stuck to my boobs and the fish is somewhere farther south, near my own tuna.
Creighton chuckles before reaching his hand down the neck of the shirt and scooping up the remains. I twist and watch as he pops it into his mouth.
“Tastes even better.”
I slip my hand under the shirt and grab the errant piece of fish, holding it between a thumb and forefinger. He nips my fingers before snatching it up.
“How about we skip the chopsticks? I’m lucky if I can figure out which fork to use. Adding in completely new utensils isn’t really fair for this Kentucky girl.” I lean back against him, the novelty of this position not yet wearing off.
“Tell me about it.”
His question confuses me. “Tell you about what?”
“Being a Kentucky girl.”
I twist again to take in his expression. He looks genuinely curious, but that doesn’t really make me want to share. My upbringing was light years away from anything Creighton can imagine.
“Nothing much to tell.”
“Now, that I don’t believe.”
I think about what I can tell him.
I was born in a tiny town with one red blinking light. I’m not even sure that qualifies as a one-stoplight town. I never knew my father, probably because my mama wasn’t so sure who he was either. My earliest memory was stuffing all my toys and clothes in a garbage bag and dragging it behind me as we moved from trailer to trailer through the park as she hooked up with loser after loser. Paper-thin walls didn’t muffle the sound of her “earning” our keep.